


Coda

by amuk



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, Endings that happened and the one that didn't, F/F, F/M, Family, Forgotten Portrait, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Promise of Reunion, True Ending, all endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ib repeats this song, over and over, looking for an ending where they can all be happy. --Ib, Garry, and Mary  and the dreams of what could be</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coda

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt/Theme: Endings that happened and the one that didn’t
> 
> A/N: There were only going to be five endings in total. Only five because there are only five. And then my sister pops in with fanart and videos and then a slew of extra what-if endings occur.

“Isn’t this a lovely painting Ib?” Her mother looks down at her, smiling brightly, and Ib stares at her for a moment. Her teeth are perfectly white, her hair neatly in place, and there is nothing wrong with this image.

 

“Are you hungry?” Garry appears behind her, concern welling in his eyes as he bends down, examining her.

 

She shakes her head, trying to remember his hair was always that shade of blue. Or if his coat was always that clean. Looking up at the painting her mother pointed out, she takes in the crayon scribbles of a world other than her own. It looks similar to the museum, as though drawn by a child, and she can make out a small splotch of purple in the bottom corner.

 

Something is wrong here and her hand almost reaches out to touch the image, to fall through the landscape. She is forgetting something, something important.

 

Her mother calls her name and she turns away from it once more.

 

-x-

 

A tear slides down his cheeks. And another. And another. Raising his hands, he wipes them off, unable to understand.

 

It’s only a red rose. A bush of them, to be exact. He’s passed by this bush hundreds of times before without incident. Almost his entire life in fact. And yet, for the past week, Garry has been unable to so much as look at the roses without crying.

 

“Why?” he asks himself, rubbing his eyes furiously. “This is stupid.”

 

 _Garry_...

 

A voice whispers to him—no, it’s just the wind blowing through the leaves. A little girl is standing beside them, a solemn smile on her face, and he steps forward to grab her.

 

“Ib--!”

 

The girl disappears and he almost falls into the rose bush. His hands grab a few petals by accident, the bright red contrasting to his pale skin.  “Who?”

 

This time the tears won’t stop.

 

-x-

 

“Who?” she mouthed, not daring to break the quiet that had settled over the museum. A hand rose, almost breaking past the barrier between her and the painting, before Ib let it fall to her side.

 

She couldn’t get in trouble again. Not yet. Instead her eyes did what her fingers strain to, tracing over each line in the artwork. The jaw, the eyes, he long fingers. Each of these strange.

 

Each of these familiar.

 

The young boy in the painting was smiling, a little sadly. Eyes closed and solemn, a rose in his hands, Ib could have sworn she had seen him smiling before. Wide eyes, open mouth. A happy smile.

 

But that was impossible. This was a painting and a painting cannot be changed so easily.

 

Ib looked at the title again. _The Forgotten Painting._

 

It felt like a warning, a message. An ache spread through her chest and she wished she could remember just what was important about this boy.

 

-x-

 

 “Mary?”

 

She lifts her head from her knees, her blonde hair barely covering her eyes. Her eyes widen for a moment, before narrowing. “You didn’t leave?” There is disbelief and anger in that voice, the thought that this is just another trick of her imagination.

 

“I couldn’t leave you alone.” Ib walks forward, coming to a stop right in front of her.

 

“You didn’t want to leave with Garry? Didn’t want to go home?” Her voice rises and Mary tilts her head up to glare at Ib. “You want to stay in this painting forever? You want—”

 

Her voice breaks off at that moment and she tightens her grip on the palette knife. Standing up, she points it threateningly at her.  “I thought you didn’t like being here. With me. I thought you liked Garry.  Don’t you want to go home with him?”

 

The knife scares her. Swallowing, Ib shakily takes another step forward and smiles. “You’re my friend too.”

 

It is too easy to see the fear in Mary’s eyes, the pain in her voice. The relief that loosens her grip on the knife as she puts up one last wall.

 

“You won’t leave me?”

 

Ib keeps her rose tucked safely in her pocket and nods. “I won’t.”

 

-x-

 

This is pain. Raw and throbbing, a knife twisting in the wound over and over. A small hand slips into his as Garry stands there, staring at the painting, and he doesn’t have to look down to see her golden locks to know it’s Mary.

 

“I never knew how painful it could be,” she whispers, her hand squeezing his. They remain silent for a while, fixed in spot in front of the portrait.

 

“Living?” He finally asks, his eyes still tracing the curve of Ib’s hands, the ruffles in her dress.

 

“No.” Mary pauses, trying to find the word for this emotion.  “It’s...I...it’s guilt. For what I did. For what I started.”

 

“...Ah.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “For me, it’s regret. I should have stopped her. Or taken her place.”

 

“Does it ever go away?” Garry looks down at her and she clarifies. “This feeling, does it ever leave?”

 

“Sometimes.” He looks up at the painting, and motions for her to look. “I think at the very least she isn’t sad about what happened—she’s still smiling.”

 

It’s happy—not the in the way that Ib normally was, with her eyes wide open and her teeth showing. But her eyes are closed and her lips are curved up and if anything, she looks content. As if she’s pleased with what she did.

 

 Mary brings a hand up to her chest, clutching the fabric at that spot. The pain is still there. Less, but not gone, and she knows it takes more than the tokens of forgiveness to change that.

 

 Garry looks down at her, understanding, and she leans against him. “Maybe one day I can smile back.”

 

“Maybe one day we both can.”

 

-x-

 

“Want a macaroon?”

 

Startled, Ib takes a step back before looking up at the tall boy. Despite his ratty coat and purple hair, his smile was friendly and while that didn’t make her trust him, it was enough that she didn’t run.

 

 

“I have plenty, you could take one.”

 

She looks down at his hands now, at the colourful  rainbow in his hands. There were pinks and blues, purples and greens, a hint of orange and red. Even more were stuffed into a bag wrapped around his wrist.

 

Her mother told her to never take food from strangers. Or even to talk to them. Not that she has spoken to him yet.

 

“You seem hungry,” he adds, encouragingly pushing his hands forward.

 

Her stomach grumbles in agreement and she considers the pastries. One couldn’t hurt. It’s not like the teen seems dangerous. If anything, he seems trustworthy. A quick search reveals her parents are nowhere nearby and without a second thought, her hand darts out take one.

 

“Thank you.”

 

In the distance she can hear her mother’s voice calling for her. When she turns back to the boy, he’s gone.

 

-x-

 

“I should make a new drawing.” Mary declares, looking down at the small dolls around her. “We should add another room to our home.”

 

The hallways are dark as she walks through them, the small patter of her dolls the only other sound there. The paintings around her make garbled sounds as she passes them, their language one she can’t understand.

 

A tugging on her dress makes her look down and she sees one of the dolls brought her sketchbook, her crayons gathered in its mouth. “Thank you. What room should we add? I have a pink room and a playroom, a book room and a sketch room. Maybe I should add a red room? Or a blue one?”

 

There is silence for a moment and then she answers herself. “A star room would be interesting. There are a few paintings here that have the stars and moon in them. A whole room filled with stars must be pretty.”

 

There’s still no reply, no second voice to agree with her.

 

She’s alone again and she tries not to cry at this loss.

 

-x-

 

“Garry?” Ib says, surprised that she knows the name of the boy in front of her.  The stranger with her handkerchief. She stares at him, at the purple hair and the dirty coat, the familiar and the unknown. She knows him, she knows him—

 

(Blue, red, yellow)

 

And all of a sudden, she _knows_ him. “Garry!” she shouts, clutching his coat like a lost child.

 

She might be one. The memories overwhelm her and she almost cries.

 

(Blue, red, yellow.)

 

“Ib?” he responds, surprised, before she can feel his arms wrap around her. He crouches now and smiles gently at her. “You made it.”

 

“We both did.” She lets go now, wiping her eyes lightly. The ache in her chest lifts a bit.

 

“Ah, your handkerchief!” Garry looks at the small fabric in his hands, at blood dotting the white. “I can’t return it like this...is it okay if I can borrow it? I’ll return it after I wash it.”

 

“That’s fine,” she answers, nodding. Ib looks back at the sculpture, the rose, and there is a pang in her heart.

 

(Blue, red, yellow.)

 

“Mary...” she murmurs to herself before looking at Garry. “She’s gone.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“She wasn’t...she wasn’t all bad.” Her voice breaks slightly here, the memory of Mary’s last moments coming back to her. That last bit...it had been scary. But before that—not everything that happened in that gallery had been bad. The three of them together, that couldn’t have been a lie.

 

Garry back at her and his eyes soften. Quietly he pulls out a macaroon, offering it to her with a small smile. “No, she wasn’t. Just a little lonely.”

 

Ib smiles back at him, taking the treat. 

 

-x-

 

“Ib!”

 

She looks up to see Mary beaming down at her, her eyes bright with excitement. “Let’s play a game.”

 

Ib looks up from the book she is reading and nods.

 

“I want to play tag.” Mary tugs Ib, pulling her up by the arm. Her book falls from her hands and onto the ground with a heavy thud. Before she can pick it up, Mary is already dragging her out of the room.

 

This is strange. Very strange. Mary has always been the energetic one between the two, always starting an adventure when boredom struck her. That is nothing new. But these games...they had rarely played tag or hide and seek in the past. Or any of the other little kid games that Mary had started to bring up recently.

 

The smile on her sister’s face is excited, eager, and it’s almost like Mary never played tag before.

 

But she had. Ib remembers how fast Mary had run in that first game.

 

Or did she? For some reason, those memories are a little blurred, like someone had scribbled on them.

 

“I called the others too,” Mary chirps, before turning to face Ib. “Why so quiet?”

 

There is blood on Mary’s dress, bright red against the yellow fabric. A blue petal falls in front of her, and then another.

 

“What’s wrong?” Mary looks at her concerned, and the illusion is broken. There’s no red, no blue, just yellow.

 

“Nothing,” Ib manages to say, the word thick and heavy in her throat. She’s forgetting something, something important.

 

She misses the scared look on Mary’s face.

 

-x-

 

“Mary?” Ib’s quiet voice filters in and Mary shakes herself out of her stupor. What is she doing? She’s supposed to see them off with a smile.

 

They forgave her.

 

(And they are leaving.)

 

They forgave her. For almost killing Garry, for hurting Ib. They both forgave her.

 

The least she can do is watch them leave.

 

“Sorry,” she answers, wiping her eyes. Looking up at them, she tries to smile. “I—” Her words catch in her throat at the handkerchief Ib is holding out.”What?”

 

Her hands shake slightly as she opens it. Inside she finds petals—red, blue, roses of life and—“What..why...”

 

Mary looks at the two, confused. She doesn’t want to hope. She doesn’t want it to shatter again—her heart can’t take it anymore. She knows that.

 

“Our roses have more than enough petals to share,” Garry says, smiling.

 

“But I...I...” She almost killed them both.

 

“We can’t leave you behind,” Ib adds, her voice filled with that quiet determination that had been Mary’s pillar.

 

“I....” Mary doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how act. Hope flutters in her again and it’s all she can do to hug to the pair, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you.”

 

She repeats the words, again and again, her grip tightening with each word. Mary can feel their arms wrap around her in response, their warmth soaking her painted skin.

 

“Let’s go home,” Garry says, holding his hand out to her. Ib firmly grabs Mary’s other one and still crying, Mary takes that final step with them.

 

This time, she won’t be alone.

 


End file.
